


Available

by miraculous_lovesquare



Series: The Available series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, F/F, FemJohn, Femlock, First Meeting, Trans Character, Translock, Unilock, alternate first meeting, aus within aus, balletlock, i think this is the most aus anyones ever used in a story, nerdy Sherlock, rugbyjohn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraculous_lovesquare/pseuds/miraculous_lovesquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with an empty seat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those who commented on my other fic, Like A Pillow. This is in the same universe, but can be read as its own work.  
> I've changed the scene a little bit to adapt, but it's still mostly the same. Some things are out of order, but I hope it's still good.  
> Enjoy! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chemistry class is where it all started...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of reorganizing and rewriting this story, this chapter is the first two originals combined.

John walked into her chemistry class and looked at the back row for empty seats. To her delight there was one in the back corner, her favorite spot. It provided a view of the entire room and put no one behind her back. Unfortunately, there was already a student sitting on one half of the table. She made her way to it and began to ask the girl if the chair next to her was available.

"Erm, excuse me, but-"

"Rugby or football?" The young woman acted like she hadn't heard the beginnings of John's question. John was ruffled.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me, do you play rugby or football?" The girl's hair bounced as she scanned John's face. She wore no make-up, but her cheekbones were striking anyway. John flushed at the thought. She was comfortable with her bisexuality, but she didn't need to be distracted by every pretty face she saw.

"Rugby, but how did you-" John was interrupted by another student bringing coffee to the strange student.

"Ah, Molly, coffee." She stared at Molly the way she had looked at John a moment before. "Where's your lipstick?"

"Oh, it wasn't working for me." She smiled tightly and started walking towards her seat somewhere in the next row.

"Well, I thought it was an improvement. Your lips look too..." She flitted her hands in a tiny gesture, "Small now."

"Okay." Molly sighed and sat a couple seats away, unpacking her things.

"So did Mike tell you about me? Or one of the team members?" John tried to draw attention back to herself.

"Not a word!" Mike protested behind her. John hadn't noticed him coming in, she was distracted by the puzzle of the omniscient pupil.

"Hey, can I borrow your phone Mike, mine's dead." She ignored John completely. John glared furiously at the dark curls in front of her.

"Sorry, mine's at the dorms." Mike shrugged.

"Here," John surprised herself by digging out her phone. "Use mine."

"Oh." The girl finally acknowledged her. She sounded a bit surprised and John was pleased that she had managed to catch the mind reader off guard. "Thank you." She typed quickly and handed the phone back. John decided to try and ask her question now that the girl's focus was hopefully on her.

"So is-"

"Yes, the seat's free. No, I will not take my feet off the desk. I also have a habit of correcting the instructor. Partners should know the worst about each other." Now John was even more confused.

"I didn't even finish my question. And how'd you know about rugby? I don't even know your name!" The girl rolled her eyes, stood up, and gathered her stuff.

"I didn't know, I noticed. I know you're in the nursing or doctoring program, most likely the doctoring seeing as you don't care for gender rolls. Neither do I, by the way, they're ridiculous. I know you have a sister, but you won't go to her for rooming. Maybe it's because she left her husband. Maybe it's because of the drinking. Either way, you stay at the dorms. You've also confirmed that you're on the rugby team, which is very interesting for a doctor-in-training. I know all of that like I knew the ending of your question. Now, I'm off. I always skip the first class, but I like to save my spot." She swung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes, and I'll be in room 221 if you need me." With that she winked, said goodbye to Mike and left with a dramatic twirl of her dress. John turned to Mike.

"Yeah, she's always like that." He confirmed. "Still interested?" He asked with a smirk. Mike had the uncanny ability to see when John liked someone.

"Piss off." She said empathetically. Yet, John plopped herself in the seat she had asked for and opened her binder, claiming her spot next to the madwoman, if she deigned to show up again.

 

o0o

 

"Nope." Sherlock muttered quietly for about the hundredth time. John sighed. There was nothing particularly awful about her lab partner, but when she disagreed with the teacher she would only say-

"Nooooo. Definitely not." John rolled her eyes. Sherlock had obviously put more work into her appearance today, wearing a full face of make-up. Even her lipstick and heels matched. That didn't change the fact that Sherlock Holmes was an arse.

"How 'bout you teach the class, then?" She suggested, getting annoyed.

"They wouldn't take a young girl more seriously than an older male. No matter how many lovers he's had. It's possible I hate gender roles more than you do." John frowned at the memory of the other day.

"How did you know about me? And what about the lovers he's had? How d'you know about them? You never explained anything." Sherlock smirked.

"Do you want me to?" John nodded, her eyes still on the teacher. Sherlock may think that every other thing he said was wrong, but John still needed to pass the course.

"The way you hold yourself suggests bruises, some are even on display," She nodded to John's arm where one a lovely shade of purple sat. "If it was abuse, you'd be hiding them, but you're almost proud of them. What would give you bruises you're proud of? Sports. Rugby and football are the most physical, you're hardly going to get that damage in tennis. But rugby is a boy's game. That's what gave me the first impression of someone who didn't care for sexism. Then there's your degree. You're going to be a doctor, that's shown in your books. You have books on biology, anatomy, and medicine. Your major is not that much of a leap from there."

John glanced at her bag and saw the books Sherlock was talking about. You'd have to pay close attention to notice them, some were blocked by others. Sherlock had seen that in one scan of her bag?

"Your phone told me all I needed to know about your sister." John pulled it from her pocket so that she could follow the leaps Sherlock was making. "The model's fairly new, about three months old. No offense, but you're not the technological sort. You also take care of your belongings, however this phone has been in the same pocket as keys and change. Besides, pink isn't your colour. Ostensibly, you're not the original owner. Now, you know the next part." Sherlock made a gesture to the back of the phone.

"The engraving." John breathed, captivated. How had Sherlock even seen it? John hadn't noticed Sherlock flipping the phone over.

"To Harri, xxx Chad. Three x's shows a relationship, and the expense shows a strong attachment; marriage. But this marriage was in trouble after three months. Uh-oh. If He left her, she would have kept it: sentiment. No, she left him. She gave the phone to you, a sign to keep in touch. You didn't, though, did you? Probably the drinking, then."

"How the hell did you know about the drinking?" John gritted her teeth. She was genuinely curious, but it was a bit of a sore subject.

"A shot in the dark, but a good one. The scratches around the charging port. When she plugs it in, her hands are shaking. Never see a sober man's phone with them, never see a drunk's without them." John ran her fingers over the marks. She hadn't ever thought about it before.

"Amazing." Sherlock tensed and John wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

"You think so?" She seemed unsure for the first time since John met her.

"Of course it was," She assured. "Extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off." At this, John giggled. She hated her laugh, it was high pitched and extremely feminine, but Sherlock seemed to enjoy it, so she let it be.

"And the professor?" She asked once she had calmed down. "How'd you know about his affairs?" She wiggled her eyebrows. Sherlock was unamused.

"His wedding ring. To be fair, I saw it off his finger in his office after hours. I got to see it up close. The outside was dirty, and the inside was clean. The state of his marriage right there. The only cleaning he ever does is when it's pulled off his finger. He can't pretend to be single all the time, eventually someone would find out, so he's had multiple lovers."

"Brilliant." John said adoringly. She probably looked like a kid finding his idol.

"You realize you say that out loud?"

"Sorry I'll stop." John apologized.

"No it's... Fine." Sherlock replied.

"Wait a minute," Some of her words caught up to John. "What were you doing in his office after hours? They lock the doors, don't they?"

"Deadbolt. Three pin. Not that hard to pick." John's eyes widened.

"Sherlock" She hissed.

"He was a suspected murderer for the case I'm on! Innocent, apparently. Well, as innocent as you can be while cheating on your spouse."

"Wait, do you work with the police? I thought they didn't consult amatuers?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think I'm an amatuer?" John nodded her head in agreement, remembering all the deductions Sherlock had shared.

"So what's your title, then?" John asked jokingly. "DI-in-training?"

"I prefer consulting detective. That way I don't tie myself to the idiocy of the Yard." A debate ensued about the competency of the police force, and John was so caught up in it, in Sherlock, that she almost didn't notice the ending of her class. The students packing up were a bit of a give away.

"Jesus, look at the time." John groaned. "I only listened to about a third of the lecture!"

"I _am_  looking for a roommate. I could tutor you and then we could have these enlightening discussions all the time." John knew Sherlock wasn't completely serious, but she was sick of her current roomie and Sherlock was an interesting character.

"Actually, that wouldn't be half bad. Lead the way!" She made a swooping motion towards the doors and Sherlock looked up in surprise. "Well, I'm obviously the only one that can put up with you, so why not?" Sherlock considered and shrugged.

"I suppose. But no messing with my experiments!" Sherlock twirled and headed out the door.  _Experiments_? "Coming?" She asked innocently when John remained rooted to her spot.

"Oh God, yes."


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have some bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girls have their second (first for Sherlock) class. Basically the crime scene of A Study in Pink with a different crime.  
> They hate each other at the beginning but don't worry, John is basically sapiosexual.  
> Enjoy!

"Nope." Sherlock muttered quietly for about the hundredth time. John sighed. There was nothing particularly _awful_ about her lab partner, but when she disagreed with the teacher she would only say-

"Nooooo. Definitely not." John rolled her eyes. Sherlock had obviously put more work into her appearance today, wearing a full face of make-up. Even her lipstick and heels matched. That didn't change the fact that Sherlock Holmes was an arse.

"How 'bout you teach the class, then?" She suggested, getting annoyed.

"They wouldn't take a young girl more seriously than an older male. No matter how many lovers he's had. It's possible I hate gender roles more than you do." John frowned at the memory of the other day.

"How did you know about me? And what about the lovers he's had? How d'you know about them? You never explained anything." Sherlock smirked.

"Do you want me to?" John nodded, her eyes still on the teacher. Sherlock may think that every other thing he said was wrong, but John still needed to pass the course.

"The way you hold yourself suggests bruises, some are even on display," She nodded to John's arm where one a lovely shade of purple sat. "If it was abuse, you'd be hiding them, but you're almost proud of them. What would give you bruises you're proud of? Sports. Rugby and football are the most physical, you're hardly going to get that damage in tennis. But rugby is a boy's game. That's what gave me the first impression of someone who didn't care for sexism. Then there's your degree. You're going to be a doctor, that's shown in your books. You have books on biology, anatomy, and medicine. Your major is not that much of a leap from there."

John glanced at her bag and saw the books Sherlock was talking about. You'd have to pay close attention to notice them, some were blocked by others. Sherlock had seen that in one scan of her bag?

"Your phone told me all I needed to know about your sister." John pulled it from her pocket so that she could follow the leaps Sherlock was making. "The model's fairly new, about three months old. No offense, but you're not the technological sort. You also take care of your belongings, however this phone has been in the same pocket as keys and change. Besides, pink isn't your colour. Ostensibly, you're not the original owner. Now, you know the next part." Sherlock made a gesture to the back of the phone.

"The engraving." John breathed, captivated. How had Sherlock even seen it? John hadn't noticed Sherlock flipping the phone over.

"To Harri, xxx Chad. Three x's shows a relationship, and the expense shows a strong attachment; marriage. But this marriage was in trouble after three months. Uh-oh. If He left her, she would have kept it: sentiment. No, she left him. She gave the phone to you, a sign to keep in touch. You didn't, though, did you? Probably the drinking, then."

"How the hell did you know about the drinking?" John gritted her teeth. She was genuinely curious, but it was a bit of a sore subject.

"A shot in the dark, but a good one. The scratches around the charging port. When she plugs it in, her hands are shaking. Never see a sober man's phone with them, never see a drunk's without them." John ran her fingers over the marks. She hadn't ever thought about it before.

"Amazing." Sherlock tensed and John wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

"You think so?" She seemed unsure for the first time since John met her.

"Of course it was," She assured. "Extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off." At this, John giggled. She hated her laugh, it was high pitched and extremely feminine, but Sherlock seemed to enjoy it, so she let it be.

"And the professor?" She asked once she had calmed down. "How'd you know about his affairs?" She wiggled her eyebrows. Sherlock was unamused.

"His wedding ring. To be fair, I saw it off his finger in his office after hours. I got to see it up close. The outside was dirty, and the inside was clean. The state of his marriage right there. The only cleaning he ever does is when it's pulled off his finger. He can't pretend to be single all the time, eventually someone would find out, so he's had multiple lovers."

"Brilliant." John said adoringly. She probably looked like a kid finding his idol.

"You realize you say that out loud?"

"Sorry I'll stop." John apologized.

"No it's... Fine." Sherlock replied.

"Wait a minute," Some of her words caught up to John. "What were you doing in his office after hours? They lock the doors, don't they?"

"Deadbolt. Three pin. Not that hard to pick." John's eyes widened.

" _Sherlock_ " She hissed.

"He was a suspected murderer for the case I'm on! Innocent, apparently. Well, as innocent as you can be while cheating on your spouse."

"Wait, do you work with the police? I thought they didn't consult amatuers?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think I'm an amatuer?" John nodded her head in agreement, remembering all the deductions Sherlock had shared.

"So what's your title, then?" John asked jokingly. "DI-in-training?"

"I prefer consulting detective. That way I don't tie myself to the idiocy of the Yard." A debate ensued about the competency of the police force, and John was so caught up in it, in Sherlock, that she almost didn't notice the ending of her class. The students packing up were a bit of a give away. _  
_

"Jesus, look at the time." John groaned. "I only listened to about a third of the lecture!"

"I  _am_ looking for a roommate. I could tutor you and then we could have these  _enlightening_ discussions all the time." John knew Sherlock was being sarcastic, but she was getting sick of her current roomie anyway.

"Actually, that wouldn't be half bad. Lead the way!" She made a swooping motion towards the doors and Sherlock looked up in surprise. "Well, I'm  _obviously_  the only one that can put up with you, so why not?" Sherlock considered and shrugged.

"I suppose. But no messing with my experiments!" Sherlock twirled and headed out the door. _Experiments_? "Coming?" She asked innocently when John remained rooted to her spot.

"Oh God, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~sherlocks ballet will come up i promise~~  
>  ASiP to be continued in the next chapter! Please tell me if there's any errors, I don't have a beta or brit-picker.  
> Constructive criticism is awesome. Incoherent screaming is also awesome ;)  
> [My tumblr](http://ninja-at-221b.tumblr.com/) if you want updates or just to come say hi.


	3. Room 221, B Building, Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets to see 221 B building, Sherlock gets to see Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had to rewrite this chapter so many times, I swear to god.  
> I've posted pictures of what the dorm would look like [on my tumblr.](http://ninja-at-221b.tumblr.com/post/137497438690/this-is-the-basic-design-of-the-dorm-room-in-my)  
> I'm going to try and write a chapter each day I don't have something important to turn in, and I'll post a chapter once a week (every Saturday).

Sherlock opened the door with a flourish, waving John in dramatically. John rolled her eyes but entered the room.

If she hadn't known before that it was just Sherlock, she would have guessed there was another inhabitant. There was stuff littering most horizontal surfaces in the room, and John could see things poking out from under desks.

John counted the desks and realized instead of having the usual two by the window, Sherlock had managed to gain a third, longer and thinner than the other two. Only one of the desks had kept its spot in front of the window. The odd desk sat in front of the bed on the other side of the room, looking more like a sofa and coffee table than a bed and desk. Coffee and tea rings could be seen both on the table and on the papers covering the table like a blanket. The mess should have been repulsive, but it made it feel less like a temporary room and almost like a home.

"Well, um, I think this could be very nice." John said, turning to look at Sherlock.

"Yes, I agree," Sherlock said, straightening a small pile of papers. It seemed like sporadic cleaning only came with a guest. They both spoke at the same time.

"Would you like me to move in?"

"You can just bring your stuff over whenever."

"Oh, okay. I'm actually free this afternoon, if that's alright." John asked. She continued to survey the room, walking over to a red beanbag on the floor. She sat in it, back to the door she had walked in through. directly opposite her was a desk chair, black with silver streaks in places to make it look modern. One of the regular desk chairs sat to her right, its back against the long desk as if it was watching the other two chairs play chess. On the wall opposite her was a bull's head wearing headphones, in between the two large windows. Sherlock had managed to squeeze in a bookshelf between the bed and the wall, and it partially covered the window on the right.

To her left John saw the other regular desk had been set at the end of the bed on the other side and it was stained as well. What the stains were, John couldn't tell, but since used flasks and tubing were scattered over the table, and Sherlock had said to mind the experiments, she guessed it was mild acids and bases. The bed had been saved from the stains, a rain proof tablecloth covering the mattress. A few spots of coppery-brown made John a bit wary, with Sherlock's line of work and her general indifference towards her own safety. John didn't think of other people's blood until she saw the piece of a finger on the table. A skull grinned at her from behind the flesh and John nodded at it.

"That's a skull." She said. It was mostly to herself, but Sherlock answered anyway.

"Friend of mine. Well, when I say 'friend'..." She tugged a knife out of the wood near the skull and stabbed the assignment they had received into the table.

"How do you not have the college on your arse?"

"I know the owner of these buildings. His wife was sentenced to death row. I helped him out."

"You saved her from a death sentence?"

"Oh no, I ensured it."

"Sherlock, who's this?" An older man stood at the door. He was thin, but short, barely taller than John, with white quickly overcoming the grey parts of his hair. He had a tray of tea and pastries balanced on his hand, the other holding onto the wall to support himself.

"Hudders, this is John, my new roommate. John, this is Mr. Hudson, the owner of the B building."

"Hello!" Sherlock removed the tray from his grasp, allowing John to greet him properly. John went to shake his hand, but the man hugged her instead.

"Hello, John. Sherlock, dear, I'm glad you finally found someone, but look at the mess. You never bring a girl to a dirty room." He winked at John. Sherlock merely rolled her eyes and picked up a few papers.

"Well, I just came to drop that off." Mr. Hudson began to walk back outside, but stopped suddenly in the doorway.

"Oh, and girls," he waved to the sofa-bed with one hand and pulled a key out of his pocket with the other. "I can get you a wider bed, if you'd like. There's another room next door too, if you'll be needing two beds instead. It's small, so the university never uses it."

"Of course we'll need two beds." John's face scrunched a bit. She grabbed a newspaper before heading back to sit again.

"Don't be worried, the campus is very nice about these kinds of things. Mrs. Turner in the next building has graduates who've been together since they started here." He smiled wistfully at John, then glanced at the newspaper. "Sherlock, what about those suicides, then. They seem right up your alley. Three of them so far, the poor-"

"Four."

"Pardon?" John asked.

"There's been a fourth, something different this time." John followed her gaze outside to where police lights were flashing.

"Oh, my." Mr. Hudson said as he made room in the doorway for another man. He was younger than Mr. Hudson, mid-forties going by the silver look of his hair. Or maybe working with Sherlock gave him greys. Either way, he was as tall as Sherlock, who was actually quite tall for a woman, and he looked exhausted as he stepped in the door frame.

"Where is it?" Sherlock asked, voice sharp.

"The gardens. Near the Belladonnas." He had a gravely voice, and his accent wasn't as posh as Sherlock's was.

"What's the difference?"

The man in the door said something about a note, and a short argument followed, something about a guy named Anderson and forensics. John's eyes were darting back and forth, the conversation moving rapidly.

"You coming?" The man looked like he was at his wit's end.

"I'll follow behind."

"Thank you." The man nodded and left.

"Yes!" Sherlock jumped around, talking fast about how Christmas had come early. How a crime connected with a holiday in Sherlock's brain, John didn't know. She paced a bit before facing John.

"Well, make yourself at home, John." She said, rushing towards the door and grabbing her coat. "I'd like food when I get back, Mr. Hudson."

"I'm not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do!" Sherlock shut the door behind her.

"She's always rushing about, just like my wife did. You're more the sitting down type, aren't you?"

"No." The word had come out gruffer than she would have liked.

"Well, I'll make a cuppa, just this once." Mr. Hudson said, falling back on the British tradition of using tea to smooth things over.

"Some biscuits, if you've got any?" John requested. She turned to her newspaper again and recognized the man from the door. He was the DI on the case of all the suicides happening recently. The campus police force had only taken interest at the latest student, the third one to die in a place that they should have never even visited, according to their major and their friends. John heard a soft sound and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway.

"You're a med student and a rugby player. You've seen injuries, violent ones." Sherlock walked towards John slowly, tilting her head slightly. John felt small under the scrutiny, so she stood.

"Yeah, enough to put off a normal person."

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh, God yes." Sherlock smiled and lead John out the door and into a cab.


	4. A Study in Greyscale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is smart and John notices things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right on time! :)  
> I've taken some liberties with the dorm rooms of Bart's, but that is their college. Everything that can be researched by an american on google, will be researched by this american on google.

John was a bit jittery in the cab. To be fair, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. She bounced her leg and shot glances at Sherlock.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. It's just the usual incompetency of the force." Sherlock assured her. Somehow, it alleviated some of the stress she was feeling, but she still had questions.

"How'd you get a cab in the middle of campus?"

"Sometimes it helps to have an interfering older brother in the government."

"Oh." John decided to stay off that topic, lest even more questions come up. Sherlock looked over at her and sighed.

"He's a dangerous man, and not my problem right now."

"Alright, where are we going."

"To the gardens, a crime scene. Obviously."

"Yeah, obviously." John muttered as the cab stopped in front of the beds of flowers. Apparently they didn't need to pay, Sherlock just hopped out and walked right up to the police tape.

"Why are you here, freak?" was a woman's greeting as they approached the scene.

"I believe I was invited." Sherlock spoke light, but John could hear the grudges in the words unspoken. "John, meet Sally Donovan. Sally, John Watson, my colleague."

"A colleague?" It had been a long time since John was introduced and the first question asked after wasn't about her name. Still, John didn't like the way Sally's eyebrow rocketed towards her hairline, as if Sherlock was someone that nobody could stand to be around. "How'd you get yourself a colleague?"

"Actually, I put out a request in the paper for someone with brains. You wouldn't have got through the first round of testing." Both Sally and Sherlock were surprised, but Sherlock hid her expression more quickly as they both ducked under the tape. Before they went to the body, Sherlock stopped John.

"Um, what you did there. It was... Good." The corner of her mouth pulled up a bit, and John's heart beat a bit faster. Sherlock turned around sharply, making her way to the body with John in tow. _Baby steps_ , John thought, _baby steps_.

"Who's this?" The DI asked.

"She's with me." Sherlock replied evenly, not waiting for a response before pacing the crime scene. She scorched another man who tried to offer advise: the Anderson they were talking about earlier, apparently he was forensics. John didn't say anything that time, but she gave him a glare for his infidelity. He left shorty after.

"John?" Sherlock didn't even glance over as she spoke, eyes focused on the evidence around her.

"Yes?"

"Cause of death?"

"We've got a whole team here!" The DI said, gesturing to all the people in blue suits. John agreed, but she kept silent. Sherlock whirled around.

"And they don't work with me." She spat. There was clearly an old grudge, and the DI looked guilty. John looked at him, silently asking permission.

"Alright, go ahead." He left the area and began giving orders to his team. John knelt by the body, and Sherlock did as well on the opposite side.

"Well?"

"What am I doing here?"

"Proving a point." John suddenly understood, hating herself for taking so long. The forensics leader had been staring at her body since she arrived, and he seemed to scoff at most things that Sherlock said. She still wasn't happy about it.

"There's a woman lying dead, and you brought me here to prove a point?"

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Was that innuendo? John shook off the thought. Sherlock had been focused on nothing but the murder since they heard the news. She examined the body, looking at the fingernails and eyes, and smelling the breath.

"Asphyxia. Likely choked on her own vomit. Not drunk, though, no alcohol on her breath. Could be drugs, poison..."

"You know exactly what it was."

"The belladonnas over there. This is one of the suicides."

"Correct." Sherlock stood up again, her coat making her look dramatic even in that simple motion. The DI appeared in the doorway again.

"Alright, I'm gonna need all you've got."

"It's not much, but..." Sherlock went into another series of deductions even longer than the first. John was surprised how much she could tell based on the little things they had.

"But where's her school bag?"

"There was no school bag. It might be in her dorm." The DI suggested. Sherlock was still brushing her hand through some of the flowers nearby.

"No, she was heading to class. With contouring like that, she wouldn't have left the room with her hair like that." Sherlock turned towards the majority of the police force. "A bag, has anyone seen a Bart's bag?"

"Sherlock, there was no bag!" She started back tracking, but stopped.

"Oh. _Oh!_ "

"What is it?"

"Come on, just think for once! It's black and white!" With that, Sherlock hailed a cab and drove off, leaving John at the crime scene.

"She doesn't have friends." John almost startled at the voice suddenly beside her. Sally, despite John's bite, had come to stand beside her. "So what are you."

"I'm nobody. We just met a couple days ago." John said. "Do you know where E building is from here? I'm afraid studying for a doctorate doesn't allow me to stroll through the flowers here."

"Oh, yeah. Go down that way, make the second right and the first left after that. It'll be straight ahead." She held up the police tape, but apparently, she wasn't done.

"Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." John nodded politely, though she had every intention of driving her motorcycle to the racks of building B.

She had found herself a new roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John has a motor cycle. She's badass like that.  
> Your comments feed my inspiration and make an early update more likely ;)


	5. Dinner (Stakeout) Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does it still count as a date when you're watching for a murderer?  
> Not if the person you're with is married already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On time again, yay! :D  
> Continuing with an altered Study in Pink. Mycroft won't show up until later. Sorry!  
> Once aSiP is over, I'm going to completely disregard the timeline. Moriarty and Sebastian and Irene will all show their wonderful faces, but not necessarily in the order you expect or at the time you expect.  
> And yes, Sherlock's ballet will come up at some point, just like John's rugby.  
> Thanks for reading!

John ended up being able to fit all of her belongings on the bike. It was built for two, so she bungeed a couple of things to the back seat. Sitting on her bike with wind blowing her hair back and a new interest to chase after, she felt alive.

"Sherlock?" John knocked on the door. She had grabbed her new keys on the way out and already dumped her things in her bedroom. This was her third time rapping on the door, and she was about to open it when Sherlock walked out, dressed in her coat and scarf.

"Ah, John. You're back already, good. Let's go out to dinner." She brushed past her and continued to the door. John was definitely going to do a lot of chasing.

"Where are we going?"

"There's a nice little Italian place on Northumberland street."

"I can drive us there if you'd like?" John bit her lip. She knew how to get to the street, as long as Sherlock could point out the restaurant, she could easily drive instead of walking or getting a cab.

"Um, alright." John had caught Sherlock off guard again, apparently niceties were her kryptonite. John led her to her bike and sat on the front. She could feel Sherlock sitting behind her, clearly a bit uncomfortable with the vehicle.

"Don't worry, I'll go slow for your first time." John reassured her, practically feeling the blush riding up Sherlock's neck.

"I'll be fine." Sherlock said as she wrapped her arms around John's waist as if it was the last life saver on the Titanic. John rolled her eyes, revved the engine, and backed out slowly. Even at that speed, Sherlock gripped impossibly tighter, but as they road through the streets, Sherlock began to relax and loosen up. As John made her way out of the campus, she turned her head sideways while keeping her eyes on the road.

"What's the place called?" She yelled over the engine.

"Angelo's, number 22." Sherlock replied evenly. Sherlock's mouth was so close to her that John had to concentrate on not reacting to the warm breath ghosting over her ear.

"22 Northumberland street, got it." John faced front again and focused on the cars in front of her and the warm weight on her back.

"Ah, Sherlock," a man greeted as soon as they came through the door. If the people said a skinny chef meant bad food, his food was heavenly. "It's good to see you. Have a seat anywhere, I'll be right over."

"Thank you Angelo." Sherlock sat at the table next to the window and began to stare out it.

"Sherlock, anything on the menu for you and your date! She got me out of a lifetime sentence, you know."

"You still went to jail." John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock explained. "Angelo was a suspect of a nasty homicide. I happened to be on the case and proved that he was on the other side of town, housebreaking."

"She saved my reputation."

"Only a bit." Sherlock replied, still clearly pleased. John ordered her food, worried when Sherlock ordered none. Had she already eaten? Then why go out to dinner?

"I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic." Angelo winked at them. John chose to not say anything.

"So, um, do you bring boyfriends here often?" John asked when the silence continued too long.

"No, boyfriends aren't my area."

"Oh," John felt incredibly stupid. "Any girlfriends? Perfectly fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine, but no." Sherlock was still staring out the window.

"So, single. Just like me. That's great." John said. She hadn't been this nervous since asking out Jamie Sholto. To be fair, Sherlock seemed just as unreachable as a girl that looked straight.

"John," Sherlock said, looking at the tablecloth before finally meeting John's eyes. "While I'm flattered by your interest, I consider myself married to my work and-"

"No. No, I was just saying... It's all fine." John smiled tightly, hiding her disappointment. It wasn't the first time she'd been turned down, but it still stung every time it happened.

"There." Sherlock said, her eyes riveted on the outside world again.

"What?"

"That cab, stalled near the curb." She gazed intently, almost as if she could see through the side of it if she tried hard enough.

"What about it?"

"That's him."

"Who?"

" _Him_. The one who's been killing the college students. He took the bag of the last student without meaning to, dumping it nearby. I found the case, but there was no phone."

"She could have left it at-"

"I already told you she had her bag with her at all times. She would have been careful with her phone as well. If it wasn't on her person or in her bag, it could only be with one other person."

"The murderer? You think the murderer has her phone?"

"Yes, and that's exactly why I borrowed yours to text her number." John's brow furrowed and she patted her pockets. No phone. Sherlock smirked at her. _Smirked_ , and held out John's phone.

"You texted a murderer." John said slowly. "From my phone?"

"Yes, knew you'd catch on. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch him." Sherlock stood up and ran out of the restaurant. John, never one to turn down an adventure, followed suit.

The cab disappeared around a corner and Sherlock put her hands to her head and closed her eyes. John got on the bike, parked over a few spots, and drove up next to her.

"Come on, let's go!" John said. Sherlock swung up behind her, all hesitance from earlier gone as she focused on the chase.

"Don't follow the cab, just listen to what I say." John nodded and sped off. From there, she would only remember a blur of lefts, rights, and straights, sometimes through four lane roads and sometimes through dingy back alleys. Eventually, they caught up to the cab, Sherlock jumping off the bike before it even stopped and banging on the window. John parked the bike behind the cab and stood beside her.

"Police, open up." Unfortunately, the person inside was a tourist from California, not a murderer from Bart's.

"Welcome to London." As Sherlock shut the door and they mounted the bike, John couldn't help but giggle.

"What?" Sherlock asked, winding her arms around John's waist.

"Just, welcome to London." John saw the driver talking to actual police. "I'm kind of glad I'm not the only one to get pick pocketed by you as well. Ready?"

"Let's go home." John smiled and drove back to their dorm.


	6. Drugs Bust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns something about Sherlock's past, and Sherlock needs a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not posting this earlier, it was mostly finished, but I forgot to add the ending and post o_0 Next chapter will be up on Saturday, promise!  
> Eh, who even reads this anyway

Once they slipped into their dorm they both fell over in fits of laughter. John thought Sherlock's huskier laugh fitted perfectly with her own high pitched giggle. God, who was she kidding, she was already infatuated.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you play rugby."

"That isn't just me." That made Sherlock laugh louder again. Her mirth was infectious, and John missed the first knock on the door.

"I guess I've got my assistant." Sherlock said.

"Said who?" Asked John playfully.

"Says the man at the door." John heard a fist pound on wood. Sherlock nodded towards the door with a smirk.

"You forgot this. Sherlock said you would." Angelo said, handing over the medication John had been taking for her sore muscles. It was prescription medication, almost steroid level. John stared at the bottle, then at Sherlock. She hadn't even taken it like she had meant to at dinner.

"Ta, Angelo." John closed the door. She noticed a Bart's bag on the chair. "Is that the bag?"

"Ye-es." Another knock on the door.

"We're popular tonight." John opened their dorm and police swarmed in along with Mr. Hudson.

"What happened? They all came over here, demanding to see your room." Mr. Hudson steadied himself on the doorway.

"I brought you on this case, you can't withhold evidence from us, Sherlock." Lestrade said, seating himself on the rolling chair.

"You still just can't burst in, it's illegal." John nodded in agreement. She could already see some of the officers eyeing the various experiments.

"It's a drugs bust!" Lestrade decided after a moment of consideration.

"A drugs bust? Have you ever met her?" John asked incredulously. "You couldn't find anything even somewhat recreational in the whole room!"

"John, you might want to shut up now." John turned to face Sherlock. They stood close, and if they had ended dinner like this instead of walking into a drugs bust, she might have thought...

"No." John whispered.

"What?"

"You."

"Shut up." Sherlock turned to the DI. "What did you find about Rachel?"

"Her sister."

"So bring her in."

"Can't. Technically she never existed. Rachel was still born." The room hushed for a few seconds.

"Never born, why would she care?"

"And here emerges the thoughts of our favourite psychopath."

"I'm a high functioning sociopath, do your research." Sherlock muttered and paced while John assured Mr. Hudson that the police weren't going to search the whole building, and yes, she was sure they knew that his things were just evening soothers.

"Oh. Oh!" John looked over to see Sherlock's epiphany face. She was also pretty sure that was her orgasm face, and John's ears tinged at the thought.

"She was clever, very clever. Cleverer than you lot, and she's dead!" Sherlock's eyes gleamed and John wanted to capture this moment forever.

"Rachel. Rachel, don't you see?" Everyone gave blank looks and Sherlock sighed. She opened the computer with one hand and pointed with the other.

"John, there's an email written on that tag, can you read it off for me."

"jenny.pink@mephone.co.uk sorry, but I don't see how this helps us."

"Her phone is a nice one, smart phone with email connections. We have the email, and all together now, the password is-"

"Rachel." John said breathlessly. Anderson said something snide, likely because he was embarrassed he didn't get it sooner. Before John could say anything, Sherlock beat her to the punch and delivered a verbal slap to the face.

"Sherlock, the security's here too, are you sure you haven't done something." Mr. Hudson asked. John watched the laptop find the phone while Sherlock talked with Mr. Hudson. Suddenly Sherlock exploded, telling everyone to remain silent. Then it pinged.

"Um, Sherlock." John said. "It's here. At Baker building." Chaos broke out around them, police going into motion again, this time checking for the phone to be dropped somewhere. Sherlock seemed to be in a daze. She headed towards the door.

"Sherlock? You alright?"

"I'm fine, just going for a walk." She headed out, and John refreshed the laptop, hoping for a different result. She peeked down the hallway to see Sherlock being escorted by the security guard Mr. Hudson had seen.

"She's going away."

"Yeah, she does that. She's wasting our time. All our time." That was Donovan again. Still, Lestrade listened, and the police began slowly leaving, one by one.

"What's she doing?" Lestrade asked, standing in the doorway. He was the last one to leave.

"You know her better than I do."

"I've known her for years, but no I don't." Lestrade nodded at her. "Sherlock Holmes is a great woman. One day she might just be a good one." He left and then the laptop pinged.

The location of the phone had changed.


	7. Two Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is both a genius and an idiot, John thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early *dances*  
> As you can probably see from the title of this chapter, this is the last of asip. From here out, the relation to canon will be similar, but it won't be nearly as close as this one.  
> As you can also probably tell, this is going to be a whopper of a story. I'm still writing it, but this one case lasted four or five chapters, and there's going to be several along with interludes of Moriarty, and Sherlock's dancing, and John's rugby.

"She is an idiot." John muttered as she ran from the dorm, laptop in hand and gun at her back. "She is a genius, but she is also an idiot." John probably looked mad, flying down hallways like a bat out of hell. It didn't matter what others think, Sherlock was in danger.

 

"A gun, how boring." Sherlock moaned. She was hoping for something more interesting.

"Oh, I'm not done yet, Miss Holmes." The guard said. He was old and Sherlock could see shaving cream behind his ear. Yet he wore a locket around his neck engraved with initials -not his. No wife, but maybe there once was. But he had no ring.

"I don't even need this for you." He continued to lead Sherlock away from her dorms at a leisurely pace.

"So you threaten them with the gun. Then what?" Sherlock asked. For some reason her mind kept skipping back to Rachel. Why Rachel?

"Well," he fondled his necklace. "Then you die. It's all a game, Miss Holmes." Not a wife, Rachel, not wife, child.

"How much money are you receiving for your kids. Enough that you devolved into killing? That must be quite the sum."

"That's part of it." He unlocked a door and walked Sherlock into a conference room. "Have a seat." The chair scraped loudly in the silence of the night.

 

"Oh, what the hell." There were two buildings ahead, technically the same one, so the phone only said it was in the "Education Centre"

"How bloody helpful." Sherlock was in there, with a serial killer who made people commit suicide. John needed to make a choice.

 

"Left handed, interesting." Sherlock remarked as the man pulled out two bottles.

"One of these is the good bottle, one of them is the bad. Which one is it Miss Holmes?"

"Is that really all? Not worth killing myself over, sorry." Sherlock began to stand, but he spoke up.

"Oh, but it's not all. I'll take whatever you don't." He moved a bottle forward. "Is that a bluff? Double bluff? Triple bluff? Come on, it's like chess, and I've played my turn."

"That's a 50/50 shot, there's no game in this."

"And yet, I'm alive. Those four students aren't." Sherlock saw the nonchalance.

"You're dying anyway. Might as well take these people with you, after all it benefits your children." She could see the surprise the man tried to hide.

"Pick a bottle."

"Oh no, this is chess remember, and it's my turn. You've got months to live and someone offered you the opportunity of a lifetime."

"The proper genius of Miss Holmes. My employer's a fan, you know. Got me hooked too. The Science of Deduction. Brilliant work." Sherlock squinted at him.

"Between you and me, why can't they think?" He continued. "Why can't people just think?"

"Oh, so you're a proper genius too?" Sherlock leaned back in her chair, smirking.

"I'm alive. Why don't you choose a bottle and show me your talent. It's got to be getting boring, doesn't it?" Sherlock snatched a bottle.

"Normal people and everyday life. Why can't anyone think? It just gets so boring for us." He emptied a pill from the other bottle into his hand and Sherlock followed suit.

"So dull, these people's minor problems clogging up your brain. Why can't they just think?" The pills drew closer to two pairs of lips. "Think,-"

 

"Sherlock!" John shouted, but it was no use. They were separated by walls and glass. She slipped her hand into her waistband.

 

Sherlock edged the pill closer and closer, about to take it. She knew she had made the right choice. And if she didn't, what was the point of living?

"They just don't think, do they? Why don't they-" He grunted as a bullet exploded through his shoulder. Deductions flew through Sherlock's mind, but she ignored them in favor of the man convulsing on the ground.

"Who is he, your employer. My fan." She spit out the last part. He remained silent.

"Your life may soon be over, but I can make it so much more miserable." She stepped on his shoulder, blood gushing under her foot. The man groaned.

"Moriarty!" He finally shrieked. Then he passed out, meeting his threshold.

 

"Jesus." John said. She pocketed the gun and walked to a different street to wait.

 

"This blanket, they keep putting it on me, why?" Sherlock thought it was a hideous shade of neon orange.

"It's for shock."

"I'm not in shock." Lestrade looked guilty.

"Yeah but some of the guys want to take photographs." He paused to look at the ground. "We don't know anything about the shooter."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Well, give it to me." Lestrade actually pulled out his notebook for once.

"Strong moral compass, he didn't shoot until I was in danger. The bullet you pulled was from a handgun, American model. He probably learned to shoot there, over a summer if I had to guess. Probably for some other violent activity like army training, medical training or rough sports, he was acclimatized to it, his hands couldn't have shaken. Strong moral compass, went to America for some seminar..." Then she saw John and it all clicked. She glanced away quickly, counting on Lestrade's inept detecting skills.

"Forget all of that."

"What?"

"Forget all that, it's the... shock talking." Sherlock smiled slightly and made her way over to John, throwing the awful blanket into a police car.

"Nice shot."

"Yeah, must have been. Through that window. Ugly business."

"When did you go to America?" John's eyebrows sprinted toward her hairline. "The gun's American and we're not nearly so centered on them over here."

"Oh, um, summer program. One of the guys there thought it was weird that I never shot before, so he took me to the shooting range for a while. I got better, and once he was satisfied, we stopped by his room instead." John smirked. Sherlock looked at her, actually looked for the first time. There was so much more to John Watson than what was on the surface, and she intended to unearth everything.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."


	8. Tiny Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only is Sherlock brilliant in mind, she has a brilliant body too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's ballet! Yay!  
> I'm not a dancer, so please let me know if I get anything wrong.

"Wait, you take ballet?" John started laughing, and Sherlock was a bit hurt.

"I've always been musically inclined, so I started dance."

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude," John said, catching Sherlock's defensiveness. "Just imagining you in a tutu and a glare. Just like the one you're giving me right now, oh god." John collapsed into giggles again and Sherlock couldn't control the corner of her mouth that was turning up.

"I'll have you know I thoroughly enjoyed doing the nutcracker production my school put on. My mother was surprised at how well behaved I could be." Sherlock's smile died, but before John could ask why, it was back again. "That's a bit cliche, isn't it?"

"I don't mind." John said with a shrug. "It's probably the only part of your life where you were anywhere close to ordinary." John smiled so that Sherlock would know that she wasn't aiming to insult. Sherlock smirked.

"I did set fire to the chemistry labs in secondary school the next year. Completely on accident."

"Of course it was." John said sarcastically. "You decided some poor kid needed to smarten up."

"Actually, it was the teacher, but still rather insightful of you." Sherlock sipped at her water and continued, "Our teacher was a biology major, but had studied the textbook so he could teach the class. Unfortunately for him, the textbook had some mistakes that anyone with even an AS in chemistry could have picked out. I slipped and dropped some potassium sprinkles in the sink. Oops." John laughed even harder at the completely dry last word and Sherlock puffed her chest in pride. That sobered John up as she realized Sherlock hadn't told that story to others. Just John.

"Here's the check, whenever you're ready, ladies." Their server dropped the leather case on the table. Sherlock grabbed it and stuffed money in before John could react.

"You have rugby practice tomorrow, you should get some rest." Sherlock said, standing to put on her coat.

"How do you know that?" John's schedule wasn't something that could be deduced off of her outfit. At least, she did think so.

"They put the times of open field next to the times for open dance. I have an Eidetic memory."

"Oh. Well, I left my bike at home, so we'll have to walk." Sherlock just began to go down the street towards the campus.

"I have ballet practice right after your rugby." She blurts. John smiles into her own shoulder, feeling her charm come back.

"I might have to stop by then." Sherlock nods abruptly and they don't talk the rest of the way back, walking in companionable silence.

***

"Tombe, pas de borree, glissade, grand jete!" The words made no sense to John, but she watched as Sherlock gracefully stepped across the floor and launch herself into a split mid-air. Sherlock caught John staring and threw her a wink before doing the same pass the other way. John couldn't hear much of the music outside the glass, but the rhythm of Sherlock's body made up for it.

When all the girls had finished, the teacher gave another set of french words and Sherlock lead them again. She looked stunning in a leotard with a small sheer skirt, barely enough to cover her bum. When she spun, it twirled so that it was perpendicular to her body, creating a tutu-like facade. John remembered the conversation they had last night and laughed lightly, only little puffs of breath escaping her mouth. Unfortunately, Sherlock seemed to catch on to her thoughts and sent her a glare, which only made her laugh a bit louder.

"Can I help you?" John hears the woman at the front desk ask. She turns, forming a retort, but quickly sees that the receptionist wasn't talking to her.

"I'm Lestrade, detective inspector from campus safety. We need Sherlock Holmes."

"What's she gotten herself into?"

"Nothing, I just need her for a case."

"Well, her class ends in five minutes if you can wait that long." John waves at Lestrade from her bench outside the classroom, making room for him to sit with her.  
"I will, thanks." He heads over and drops into the seat heavily.

"What's this one about?" John asked.

"It looks like a murder-suicide, but something isn't right. I just can't place it."

"I'm sure she'll pin it down."

***

"It's fairly simple, but you lot have left your brains at home today, so I'll explain it very slowly." At the speed Sherlock is talking, John doubts it will actually be slow, but she hangs on to every word anyway. "They're both part of a cult, as evidenced by the books on their shelf. The fact that they were together is only relevant in the fact that the leader of the group was homophobic. The abrasions on the wrist indicate struggle against bonds, why tie a person up when they know you and you can just shoot them in the back instead? Maybe poison would be a cleaner option too, but no, they were both shot with the same gun. Not this one." Sherlock kicked the one out of the boy's hand. "That should have been your third clue."

"Third, what about the first and second?"

"Ah Lestrade, you were tipped off by something, weren't you? There's hope for you yet. Look at all the pictures on their board. There's old and new, all very very happy and sentimental. There's a promise ring in this drawer, he was almost ready to present it, most likely in the next week or so. This couple is sickeningly in love, but one decides to kill the other? Not likely. The other is very simple. He's left handed, but the bullet is through the right side of his head." Sherlock contorted, trying to aim an invisible gun to the opposite side of her head. "Kind of hard to do. So, outside job. Now how do I know it was the leader?"

"No forced entry?" John guessed.

"Great start John, as usual you're a couple steps behind, but you get there eventually. It had to be someone they both know and would let into their room, even when it's a bit of a mess. Not parents, teacher, or acquaintances, that leaves close friends. With a couple this clingy, it would have to be a close friend of both, you can't get one without the other. A friend that hates them secretly. They did something wrong. He probably told her he was going to give his promise ring. Yes, this was a crime of jealousy, but not toward each other. Someone else towards him. This verse was highlighted in the bible, it's the only one that can be perceived as against gays, so why is it in a dorm with a gay couple? The murderer planted it, thinking it was subtle enough for the police to miss. She didn't count on me."

"So this girl loved her friend, let him go into a relationship with another man, but didn't snap until he talked about marriage?" John thought that seemed a bit odd.

"She thought it was just a phase." John winced. Sherlock continued, "Check the religious groups on campus, one of them has a female leader with long brown hair. It's still on his shirt. She'll confess, she already feels guilty."

"Well, this was only a four, a nice little distraction." Sherlock said, stripping her gloves and heading out the door. John followed her, and they both ended up in their room.

"You're still absolutely brilliant. Very nice dancing, by the way." John loved the little hint of pink that crept onto Sherlock's cheeks at any form of praise.

"It was simple drills today at practice, not much."

"Still, very good." John sat down and opened the newspaper while Sherlock worked on whatever experiment she was conducting on her table.

"I saw your practice too." She said quietly. John hid her grin behind the paper.

"How was it?"

"Dirty and brutal, which was what I expected." John could tell she was purposefully not saying that she liked it, so John just sat back and read her newspaper.

"Thai tonight?"

"I know a place nearby."

"Alright." Silence fell over the almost domestic scene.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *whispers* please comment if you liked it  
> [My tumblr](http://ninja-at-221b.tumblr.com/)


End file.
